Help me, I'm feeling
by Koza B. Bucket
Summary: New, strange, wonderful feelings begin to blossom between Lukas and Mathias, but Lukas can't get a grip on his emotions long enough to decide what he wants. Meanwhile, Emil finds that he has some unexpected feelings of his own. DenNor, and slight NorIce.
1. Chapter 1

"Luke. Lukas. You know... you know what I think?" the man beside me asked, jumbling his words together drunkenly. His small, black cap had fallen to the floor long ago, and I had gotten tired of picking it up for him after about his fourth topple. He was dangling off of his stool, one leg stretched out to touch his shoe to the tiled floor, the other wrapped around the chair's leg to somehow keep him grounded. He was leaning over the counter, head dipped to make his hair fall into his face, wheezing out a chorus of laughs before he even reached the joke.

"What?" I asked, unamused. I frowned, my chin resting in my hand as I gazed at my tanked, ah... "friend." Any answer at this point would have spurred him on, so I supposed his drunken babble was unavoidable.

"I think that—" he started laughing again, through his words. "—Peter should shave his eyebrows! They make him look like an old man, don't you think? Don't you think, Luke?"

I covered my mouth with my hand, unable to contain the weak smile tugging at my lips. It wasn't that he'd tickled my ribs with his comic wisdom—_hell_ no—but Mathias was even more stupid when he was piss drunk and halfway to dropping to the ground. He was delighted, though, when I gave him a nod of agreement, no matter how much I didn't mean it, or frankly didn't care. He waved at the bartender for another round, sliding his glass out of the way. He still had half a glass of ale left, but apparently that was not going to satisfy him.

"That won't be necessary," I interrupted him, standing. "We were actually just about to leave."

Denmark lifted his head to shoot me a curious glance as I stuffed my wallet into my coat pocket. "But I'm not even buzzed yet, you jerk!"

"Nope, you're done." After quickly balancing my cap on my head and stuffing my hands into thick gloves, I moved to give Mathias a helping hand. He stumbled onto the floor, second foot hitting the tile with a loud _crack_, and reached out for something to grab onto in order to steady himself. Unfortunately, the closest thing was me, so he gripped me by the shoulders, shifting all of his weight onto my small body. Falling back into a stool myself, I got the man back onto flat feet and swung his black parka over his shoulders. It took him three tries to get his arms in the sleeves, but finally he turned to face me, hair ruffled and cheeks flushed with booze, to show off his grin.

I bent down to grab his hat once again, shaking my head.

Getting out onto the street without tripping into a snowbank was difficult enough, but hailing a cab while keeping Mathias from skipping out through traffic was a whole different ordeal. The bitingly frigid air had sobered him the slightest bit, so at least he wasn't asking to go back to the bar for another creative drinking game. Anything seemed more intriguing to the man than the taxi that was sloshing towards us, and I struggled to keep him from soaking his shoes in the snow, from pressing the crosswalk button, and from leaning too far into a nearby mailbox.

"Mathias—come on," I said, grabbing onto his arm. He seemed a tad steadier, although I wouldn't have called him graceful just yet. He loped along beside me, letting me half-lead, half-drag him to the yellow cab.

"Look, it's snowing!" Mathias said, astounded by the translucent crystals whizzing through the air and piling up on his shoulders.

"Yeah, I know. It's always snowing."

The interior of the car was well-heated, instantly relaxing me as I told the driver Mathias's address, and leaned back into the worn leather. Mathias hadn't bothered to scoot over at all from the original position I set him in, which had left just enough room for my little body to squeeze in without slamming myself in the side with the door. He seemed to be enjoying the warmth of the car—and my side—while staring out at the flurry of snowflakes that engulfed the town in whiteness.

"It's really nice, you know," he said, voice still slurred by alcohol. His breath smelled like a barrel of ale.

"What is?" I frowned. This may seem nice to him, snuggled up against me, but I had the door handle digging into my arm and a brawny Dane crushing me to dust. Mildly uncomfortable.

"This..." his voice trailed off into a sigh, the artificial warmth obviously getting to him. His eyelids began to droop, too heavy to be held up any longer.

"Don't you dare—"

Mathias rolled his head onto my too-close shoulder, ignoring my initial protest and the annoyed glances to follow. I squirmed underneath the irritating weight that was pinning me to the side door, leaning away from the heavy, damp breath in my ear. His hair, too long, too messy, brushed my neck and sent disruptive shivers down my spine. This man was so annoying. A stupid, agitating, troublesome...

A soft snore rattled my eardrum and gave me a sharp start.

"Idiot," I murmured, leaning my face as far away from his as possible. But his breath was melting the icy flakes on my shoulder, in my hair, warming my neck as much as the car's heat could. I stuck my hands out at the vent, toasting them in the dry, scrumptious hotness as it flowed across my skin and into my sleeves.

Glancing at Mathias's hands, softly laid in his lap, I wondered if they were still chilled from the outside air as much as mine had been. His fingers were almost curled closed, but remained loose as he dozed. It took a lot of strength to rip my hand away from the delicious heat, but I pulled it back and then slowly began to reach out towards him. His skin looked so soft, gentle despite the potential strength he held below his surface. My thumb brushed his, but the touch made Mathias stir, digging his nose deeper into my shoulder. _What the hell am I doing?_ I thought to myself, surprised and flushing with a tint of pink in my cheeks. I made as if I was wiping the remains of a snowflake off of his hand, then returned to roasting my lukewarm fingers over the vent.

His hand _was_ cold...

The car pulled to a halt in front of Mathias's cottage, and I scrambled to remember how to think in order to pay the fare. Mathias had a sweet, if too cozy, bungalow made of brown brick and pasty cement. The front "yard" was covered in inches upon inches of snow, some layers hardened to ice and others fluffy and inviting. While the neighbors all seemed to have pristine, untouched slabs of white as yards, this house's was patched with trails, a few forts, and a thousand boot-prints. The Dane wasn't one to care about the appearance of his yard, but would rather roll in the snow and actually make use of the land. A candle in a tall, one-story window cast a light on the irregular banks of snow to create odd, eerie shadows in the otherwise dark night. The streetlight was out again, or hadn't been turned on in order to save precious energy.

I nudged Mathias awake, shrugging my shoulder, and was instantly sorry for doing so. He inhaled sharply, surprised, and shot his head up as if he never realized that he was leaning on me. Seemed to really sober him up, at least. Nodding a quick thank-you to the driver, I dragged my large, blonde friend onto the sidewalk. He was still groggy and drunk, but tried not to show it in his movements. He started towards the front door on his own, myself following after to be sure he didn't slip on a dangerously-placed patch of ice and break his neck. He managed to get his keys out on his own, but needed my help to unlock the damn door. Our hands brushed when I grabbed the keys from his fumbling fingers, and his was much colder than mine.

The thought of grasping his hand and warming it up in my own definitely did not cross my mind, and my heart definitely didn't skip a beat.

"You're going to be so hungover tomorrow," I noted as we stumbled into the hallway. He was already kicking off his shoes on his own, which was a good sign.

"I'm fine, naturally," he replied, words still heavy and dripping with ale. He dropped his hat on the floor and stepped closer to the stairs. Once there, he just stared blankly at the steps, as if judging whether he could make it up them without tripping or falling asleep on the banister. I sighed, grabbed an arm to steady him, and led him up without a word.

When we arrived at his room, I walked right in with him. No reason to be shy, really, when he'd already invaded my personal space too many times tonight. After all the tipsy weight that had been pressed onto my back throughout the evening, Mathias's king-size bed was looking inviting and fluffy with its numerous wool and down comforters. If I could just rest for a few moments, that would be fine, and I would be on my way...

"You can't sleep in your jacket," I said, shaking my ridiculous thoughts away. I would never, of course, sleep in his bed. Having him napping on my shoulder was bad enough, but I could've just imagined all the hugging and grabbing he would do with more room. How unpleasant that would be, and waking up with him having such a terrible hangover would be torture. Speaking of hangovers, I would probably be sleeping in a little late tomorrow as well.

Mathias didn't seem to realize that the parka had to be shed, so I walked over, too close for my comfort, and helped him shrug out of it. My hands brushed his bare arms, too close, too close. Whatever words I was going to say got caught in my throat, being shoved around by my heart that was beating too rapidly in my chest. A few drinks could really do a number on me, I supposed. The rush was exhilarating, but obviously wrong. I stepped away and excused myself to his bathroom to splash some cold water on my face.

With water dripping off of my chin, I looked at myself in the mirror. My pale skin was flushed from the constant change in temperature from bitter wind to pleasant heat, the warmth just beginning to dry the wetness in my blonde locks. My hairpin, an elegantly simple silver cross, was falling out, so I fixed it up tightly to give my hands something to do. Once I steadied myself enough, I sighed, closed my eyes, and ventured back out into the room.

Mathias was standing not a foot from the doorway, leaning his head on the wall beside it. His jacket was still on the floor where he had dropped it, and he hadn't even made an attempt to take out some pajamas or begin to change his clothes. I took a step out, but he grabbed my arm.

"Lukas," he said, voice surprisingly clear and understandable. "Thank you." His eyes bore into mine, their colour like swift blue water over a stone riverbed, both burning intensely and softly gazing at me through his lashes. His hair had fallen into messy heaps, and yet it still looked so normal, a look so casual that only he could make it look good. His lips, for once, were not yanked upwards into a wild grin, but were parted ever so slightly, as if he'd forgotten about them and left them to position themselves on their own.

My blood rushed through my veins too quickly, my heart pulsing it to my fingertips so hard that they began to tingle. My chest, my neck, my cheeks were too warm, burning hotter than the taxi's heat had been, and with a sudden boost of courage from the drinks I'd had, I did something without another thought. Standing on my toes, leaning so close to Mathias's face, I brushed my lips against his. It was hardly even a kiss, just a slight touch of our lips, but his parted even more in shock. I pulled away and slouched back down to my flat feet before he could even recover himself enough to stop leaning on the wall, making my way across the room coolly without looking back. I was trying my best not to think at all, because if I did, I may have exploded into a million tiny fragments.

"Get some sleep, Mathias," I said as I walked out.

It was as I was closing his front door, licking the last taste of him off of my lips, that my skin flushed bright red from the tips of my ears to the base of my neck. Because it was that second that I remembered that I hadn't had a single drink all night, and had just kissed Mathias by my own will.

* * *

><p><strong>To be continued in chapter 2...<strong>


	2. Chapter 2

The next morning held promise of more snow, building up in the clouds and gathering until, at some point in the day, it would become too much and a million crystal shards would fall on our town, dusting everything with a dazzling sparkle. As I walked to work, bundled in scarves and sweaters, I waited for the moment when the sky would split open and burst with a flurry of flakes. At least it busied my mind, but my fingers kept fiddling with the button on my sleeve.

I inhaled the swelling, sharp scent of coffee grounds as I pushed the door to my café open; waving a hello to the man I'd made my manager. Emil was about the same size as me, with the same delicate features and short, blonde hair. His neatly placed locks were a stark platinum blonde compared to my honey colour, one of the few differences that set us apart. We were similar in more than just appearance, sharing the same way of speaking in short, bored tones and viewing things as they are. He already had his apron on and was filling machines, though I supposed he hadn't come in early. I didn't want to admit it, but I had a lot of trouble getting out of bed that morning, not wanting to face the day.

And the inevitable confrontation...

I slipped in behind the counter, fumbling my apron over my head, and started busying my hands. After a while, customers started filing in and I finally had something to keep my mind away from thoughts that could really be my downfall. Emil was reserved, as usual, while taking orders and pulling shots. I ended up cleaning and filling machines until a third employee came in, but that was fine. Fine, fine, fine. I focused on my work.

"What's eating you?" Emil asked me, suddenly, when I went to hand him a warm mocha. He didn't quite take it, keeping me rooted to the spot without anywhere to set the drink down. Dully violet eyes scanned my face, searching for any hints as to what was wrong.

"Nothing." I can't look him in the eyes, and instead I stared at the foam floating on the top of the mocha. I tried to find some sort of entertaining shape in the bubbles, but nothing showed up.

"Come on, Lukas. The last time you made that face, Mathias had called you a 'total asshole' and you were miserable for days." He looked me over for a moment more, and when my lips didn't form any response, he snatched the still-warm drink out of my hand. "I'm not a stupid kid. You don't have to hide things from me."

The fact that he thought I viewed him as a kid shocked me enough to set me into motion, walking away in order to avoid his accusing eyes. Emil was the closest thing I had to a best friend, but our age difference was so vast that he seemed like a little brother to me. Ever since I could remember, I had been teaching him how to walk with his head held high, how to be a man for himself, and he'd picked up my way of speaking on his own. We were two of the same breed, really, but he held a gentleness inside of him that made him a perfect security blanket. I couldn't help seeing him as the boy five years younger than me, the friend I had to protect from the world. He was so sweet and innocent underneath his shell, and I didn't hate admitting to myself that I loved him for it.

I was confident in Emil's ability to keep a secret, but the moment had passed and he was already taking another order. I rushed to fill it when the bell on the door chimed, catching my attention. A cup in one hand, I glanced over to see Mathias stroll into the café, wind blowing his hair around to imperfection and trudging a layer of snow onto the welcome mat. I felt heat creep up my neck despite the icy breeze that flooded the room, seeping in from the outdoors. My fingers were gripping the cardboard cup too tightly, folding it and leaving creases. He had Berwald, fluffy coat making him look even more bulky and intimidating, and Tino, void of his dog for just this once, in tow as he found a table. I watched them as they chatted quietly for a moment, probably deciding on their orders.

"Don't tell me you thought they wouldn't come in today," Emil said, suddenly coming up behind me and filling the order I hadn't started. I stepped out of the way as he swirled on too much whipped cream. It was true, the trio had a habit of stopping in every day just after the morning coffee rush was over, but I had been dreading their appearance, borderline hoping that they wouldn't show up. I really wasn't going to get anything done with them sitting in that little corner table, was I? Even as Emil walked away without speaking, I was still staring at them, watching a shocked look pass over Berwald's face as Mathias grabbed a giggling Tino in a headlock.

Then Mathias saw me looking over, released Tino, and gave me a frantic wave and the most ridiculous smile.

It was all I could do not to drop the little cardboard cup and dash to the back storage room to live out my life in peaceful solitude. But I strolled over to the trash can, calm and collected on my exterior, and tossed it away. I pretended not to notice the Dane's motions, his waves, his laughs, but when he started calling out my name I couldn't really just bury my head in the chocolate sprinkles and ignore it.

"I think he wants to talk to you," Emil muttered, a smile playing on his lips. "Well, you don't seem to be getting anything done anyways, so why don't you go over and chat?" He really was doing all my work for me already, although there was another employee working with us. I began to refuse and reached for another clean cup, but he steered me to the half-door that separated the restaurant from behind the counter. I gritted my teeth.

"Thanks for covering me, Emil," I replied, sarcasm dulling my words. "You're a real lifesaver." He gave me a quick thumbs-up, keeping an eye on me as I dragged myself over to the table as if to make sure I wasn't going to bolt out the door instead. By the time I made it there, Berwald had gotten Tino a safe distance away from his captor.

"Hey! Emil doing all your work for you again?" Mathias chimed, beaming.

"What do you mean, 'again'?" I grumbled in response, not meeting his sparkling eyes. "I never let him do that for me."

"Luke really is a hard worker," Tino told him, defending me. "Well, why is he doing it today, then?" He laughed and shrugged his shoulders, shrugging Berwald's protective arm with them.

"What? I don't know." I answered him too quickly. Then I sent accusingly towards Mathias, "You were having the damn fit over here so he thought I should make sure you were still in your right mind. What do you want?"

"Oh yeah," he said as if he'd forgotten. "I wanted to thank you for being so motherly last night, because I don't think I ever did." _Ugh._ Only he would use a word like "motherly" to describe me while we were in public. It took me a long moment to realize what that really meant. He didn't remember thanking me.

So, he probably didn't remember me kissing him just seconds afterwards.

"Yeah. Just don't do it again," I muttered, because that was all I could come up with.

* * *

><p>The days passed slowly after that, although I tried to keep myself busy with extra hours at the café. And yet, at the back of my mind, always bullying itself foreward, was the softness of Mathias's lips, the taste that lingered on mine for too long, my reluctance to brush my teeth afterwards... Every time the sensations took over my thoughts, I could feel myself burning up. Somehow I managed to blame it on the cold, but it soon became that every time I looked at him, I would remember the way his mouth had moved ever so slightly and end up staring at his lips.<p>

A loud voice kept wondering if he'd really forgotten my actions. Certain parts of the night could have stood out to him, and he _did_ seem pretty sober before I left him to sleep. Before I knew it, the questions were eating away at me, and I couldn't multitask any longer.

That night, I had Emil over to maybe, just maybe, tell him about it.

I can really be an impulsive person, because I like to act before I think things through. If I think too much, I end up frightening myself, embarrassing myself, until I don't want to act anymore. But just doing what needs to be done, on the spot, is what I do best. And yet other times, like that night, I had already thought about my words too much to do any good. I planned out each of Emil's reactions, each of which made me bite my lip and hold my tongue until we were turning down the beds. Even then, he was the one to urge me to talk.

"Something is still bothering you, huh?" I climbed into the sheets, bundling myself under the covers to escape the natural frigidity of the air. There was a long, ringing stretch of silence before I could form any words in my mouth to toss back at him.

"I'm just a fool, Emil," I began weakly. Unable to bear staring into his calculating eyes, I turned onto my side, facing my back to his bed.

"Spit it out," he said, but not in a harsh way. I pulled the blanket up to my chin, almost over my mouth, as if I could prevent the words from coming out.

"I kissed Mathias." I squeezed my eyes shut, replaying the flat words in my own ears.

"I was afraid you were going to say that," Emil murmured, sounding more thoughtful than shocked. "I figured it would happen eventually, but..."

"Huh?" Why the hell was he so calm about it? As far as I knew, lip action was something that could tear apart our friendship.

"Face it, Lukas, you've liked him for a while now—" He was being outrageous!

"I have not!" I turned quickly to look at him, but he now had his back turned to me, curled up on his side under a single sheet.

"—I guess it's time to tell him how you feel, right? That would be the best thing to do." Emil sounded more like he was talking to himself than to me, ignoring my protests and denial. "You can talk to him tomorrow. He'll come into the café, and you two can step aside and have a little chat. That'll work, right?"

"No—hell no! I can't just do something like that, he's such a good friend, I could never ruin our relationship," I said in a hushed tone that fit the dark, sleepy atmosphere, but was still laced with desperation.

"Well, you didn't care one bit about what kissing him would do to your relationship, did you?" His tone was harsh, sprinkled with a bitter wrongness. The words were true, but they stuck like a knife in my gut.

"No, I guess not..."

"So you'll talk to him tomorrow?"

"Sure," I said. I wasn't sure if it was a lie, or whether I had the courage to tell him the truth. I just didn't want to hear his voice twisted like a sweet chime contaminated with venom, as he'd sounded before.


	3. Chapter 3

Light streamed through the curtains I'd left open, forming pools of brightness on my bed and carpet. It was so damn bright, and it was too damn early, early enough that my eyes were stinging and dry as I stirred. My alarm hadn't gone off yet, but it was too sunny to curl back up in bed, and I was feeling too lazy to close the curtains. So, I untangled myself from the mountain of blankets that weighed me down, dropping my bare feet to the floor.

Emil's bed was empty and already made. I made my way over to the other side of the room, placing a hand on the mattress. It was cold. He must have gotten up at the crack of dawn this morning, I supposed. I wondered dully if he'd helped himself to some breakfast as I pulled on a shirt, then made my way out into the kitchen.

"Emil? Do you want an omelet?" I called out, turning the corner into the living room and expecting to find him quietly reading or watching television. His book from yesterday wasn't even there. I shrugged and headed to the bathroom, figuring I'd wash my face before searching the second floor anyways.

I yawned loudly as I approached, my flat feet making a soft brushing sound against the hardwood. A series of sharp noises, like metal bouncing against tile, shrieked inside of the bathroom and I found myself suddenly bursting through the halfway-open door to find out what the hell was wrong. The doorknob slammed against the wall behind it when it swung open, startling Emil, who whirled around to face me.

His eyes were bloodshot and puffy, his nose cherry-red and the rest of his face pink and feverish. He had water dripping off his face, from the faucet that was still gurgling down the drain, and a look of utter astonishment lining it.

"What the hell happened?" I asked, hand still gripping the door with white knuckles. Snatching a towel from the rack, Emil patted the wetness off of his face and bare chest, looking a lot more collected when he was finished. "You don't look so good."

"I couldn't sleep at all last night," he admitted, looking past me out into the hallway. His voice was cracked and weak, like he'd just inhaled the smoke from an exhaust pipe.

"Damn, you're sick." I stepped forwards, to place my hand on his forehead. He turned away, but I grabbed his arm and put my hand on his face, muttering about not being shy. It was boiling hot, even though the water still clinging to his hair was definitely cold. He still wouldn't meet my eyes. I shook my head. "You're definitely not going into work today."

"Stop it, I'll be fine." Emil tried to tug away, but I still had his wrist in my grasp. He was moving around too much, and now the fever was turning his neck red and hot. "I'll just take a shower and relax a little and then I can get ready."

"You have a fever, idiot, you can't take a hot shower," I said, frowning. Dragging him out of the bathroom by the wrist, I blatantly ignored his protests, including the physical ones. He really didn't want to go back to bed, did he? I kept hauling him back to my room, then sat him down on his neatly-made bed. He yanked his wrist out of my hand in a sharp motion, and I let him take it back. Pushing his shoulder down seemed to work to get him horizontal, so I went to close the curtains.

"You done struggling?" I asked him, glancing over my shoulder. His face was turned towards the wall, halfway buried into the pillow.

"Only because you're not going to let me work, are you?" Emil's words were muffled by the fabric against his mouth. He turned to look at me for a second.

"Of course not. We have enough employees to cover the both of us for the day—don't make that face. You can't possibly take care of yourself when you're so sick." Now that the curtains were closed, the room had darkened to that "before dawn" level of light, a promise of something happy once the darkness faded.

I grabbed a blanket off of my bed and swung it over his body, because I was too stupid to turn down the bed before laying him on it. I positioned it just so, and it looked as if he was being swallowed up by the sheer size of the fluff, his flushed little head poking out of the top. I really couldn't help myself, and tucked his hair behind the ear that wasn't pressed into the pillow.

"I hate you for this," he muttered, still eyeing the wall.

"Get some sleep, Emil," I said, on the verge of laughing and almost accidentally tacking _little brother_ onto the end instead of his name. I walked out as quietly as possible, as if he'd already fallen asleep and I was afraid to wake him. The door clicked shut behind me, and then I remembered a few nights ago, when I'd said the same thing to Mathias. Just after I'd... I had to make Emil some breakfast, maybe even squeeze some fresh orange juice to keep him hydrated, and not think about the kiss I'd dealt out too willingly. I heated up a burner, grabbing a carton of eggs to make him something.

While Emil was eating—breakfast in bed, it was the one and only time I was able to spoil him—I made a few calls. After getting a few employees to come in early and a couple more to cover the later shifts, I dialed Mathias's number to let him know why we weren't in.

"Hello?" I was surprised at the fact that he'd use such a plain greeting to answer the phone.

"Hey. It's Lukas."

"Luke! ...God, what time is it? Why are you calling so damn early?" he whined, huffing a breath into the receiver.

"Emil caught something bad, so we're staying home today. I just didn't want you to worry," I explained, trying not to picture the soft skin of his face in my mind, or imagine him unshaven and bed-rumpled.

"Do you want me to come over? I can help!" His offer was shot down quickly, because I did _not_ need any help from _him_. "Oh, come on. I'll be serious!"

"No," I repeated, on the verge of hanging up on him. But if I did, he'd probably take it as a "come right on over."

"Don't worry, I won't be an idiot," he singsonged, and then the line went blank.

Dammit.

* * *

><p>A gruff, echoing knock at the door made me jump while giving Emil a new glass of orange juice, which made the liquid slosh over the edge of the glass and onto the floor. I finished handing him the drink—he still wouldn't look at me for more than a second—and grabbed some paper towels from the kitchen, taking my sweet time to dab it up out of the carpet. Once I was satisfied, I headed to get the door.<p>

I opened it to reveal an impatient, bored Mathias with his hands stuffed in his pockets, snowflakes burrowing into his blonde hair. The bite of the air hurt on my skin, because I hadn't changed out of what I'd slept in: short, blue boxers and the white shirt I'd thrown on, hanging unbuttoned. He looked me over for a second long enough to make the tops of my ears turn red as his eyebrows climbed.

"Get in here," I grumbled, rubbing my ears as if they were cold. "you're letting all the heat out." Mathias grinned and stepped in, shaking the snow off of his shoulders and out of his hair like a wet dog.

"Where's the sickly little boy?" he asked mercilessly, removing his parka.

"Sleeping," I lied to prevent the man from bursting into my room and disturbing Emil. "I told you I didn't need your help."

"Maybe not with Emil, but you at least need some company who isn't burning up under their bedsheets." He winked playfully, and I scowled.

"His fever's died down," I muttered, trying to stay on subject. Turning on my heel, I left him to do whatever the hell he wanted, as long as he didn't get in my way.

I entered my room again to find that Emil had downed the glass of orange juice, which was condensating on the night stand. He looked up when I opened the door, meeting my eyes for longer than he had all day. His head dropped back down against the pillow, face to the wall.

"You're going to stare a hole into my wallpaper," I whined, placing a hand on his arm. He stirred from the position he'd lain in all morning, squirming away from my touch. "How are you feeling?"

When he didn't answer, I pressed my hand to his forehead. It was burning again, and his hairline was damp with sweat. As I pulled away, Mathias popped his head into the room, beaming with some sort of eternal energy.

"Can I talk to you for a minute?" he asked me, grinning wide. I shook my head.

"I have to get him a cold cloth. Just—stay out of the way." I steered him out of my way with a hand on his chest—he was so _warm_—but he followed me to the linen closet, then the bathroom. He was surprisingly quiet was he acted as my shadow, even standing behind me while I ran the cold water.

Then, Mathias pressed his body against my back, placing a big, heavy hand on my hip.

"What—?" I whirled around, stepping back into the bathroom counter. My feet refused to move then, because he took a step too, closing the distance. The fabric of his T-shirt brushed the skin on my bare chest, the hand on my hip moving to my stomach and his fingers spreading apart.

"I wasn't that drunk, Lukas," he said, so close to my ear, but lighter than a breath. I wasn't even sure if he'd really said it, but then he continued. "I wasn't going to embarrass you, but God, Lukas, what was I supposed to think?"

"What are you talking about?" I asked. I knew all too well what he was talking about, which spread a red line of heat across my jaw. If I kept talking to him, maybe the hand on my stomach wouldn't feel so pleasantly warm, and maybe the crystal-clear memory of his taste wouldn't reach my tongue.

Mathias smiled. "Don't play dumb with me," he said softly. "A couple nights ago, when you thought I was wasted..." His voice trailed off like an invitation.

"Want me to remind you?" he asked when I did nothing but blush harder. His lips parted, his hair falling into his face, he leaned towards me until we were inches away from a kiss. I was practically shaking, my hands on the counter—too close to the one he had there—trembling, my eyes darting away from his face, until I was shaking my head as well.

"I—I can't do this," I said too loudly, too quickly for the moment. Mathias seemed shocked, and the hand on my stomach wavered, those beautifully icy pools of blue staring into my eyes. We stood like that for too long, him taking in my words, and me not wanting to push him away. He pulled his hand back, finally getting the message, but didn't take a step in reverse.

"How long does it take you to—" Emil's voice, echoing down the hall, was cut off when he turned the corner and saw. Saw Mathias leaning over me, our legs touching and our chests brushing, saw him practically pinning me against the counter. Saw me not pushing him away. I guess this counted as our little "chat."

The look that crossed Emil's face was pure pain, but I only saw a flash of it before he took off in any direction, just _away_, his feet slapping the floor hard. I again heard a sharp _clang_ of metal, this time forceful and bitter as he threw something to the ground, followed by the deafening slam of a door.


	4. Chapter 4

Mathias jumped back from me, and I would have shoved him out of the way if he hadn't, because my very first instinct was to chase after Emil. The door to my room had been shut forcefully, and I could hear creative grumblings seeping through the cracks. My hand hovered less than an inch from the doorknob, unable to whirl the door open while still getting over the shock of Emil's tortured features. I stepped in anyways, swallowing my fear.

"Emil..." I couldn't grab the words out of the heavy, desperate air. He had dragged or thrown the blanket off of my bed, and was in the middle of laying a kick onto the fabric. He refused to raise his head or acknowledge me, but he dropped his foot.

"I'm leaving," he hissed, storming to the foot of the bed to grab the clothes he'd discarded before going to sleep. I watched in utter silence as he stuffed his bare feet into the legs of his pants, punching his fists through the sleeves of his shirt. He drifted over to the doorway, which I was conveniently blocking with my small body. "Move."

"No," I said firmly, searching his face for any sign of emotion. He seemed to be holding it all in under a thick barrier, only letting his hurt escape through the ice in his voice. Emil ran a hand through his starkly white hair, covering his face as he was doing so, and looked to the side. His neck was red, flushed with harsh, blotchy colour as it had been this morning when I found him. He wiped quickly at his eyes, trying to bully the tears away. They came in slow, tiny drops, but kept wetting his face, then his hand. When he finally, _finally_ glanced at me, his eyes were swollen and his nose red and dripping.

_He wasn't sick._

"God dammit, Lukas, get out of my way." His voice was growing even more pained each time he let the words burst out.

_He had been crying._

"No," I said, shaking my head as I closed the door behind us. I grasped his wrist with my other hand, pulling it down to his side so I could see his face. "No. Not until you tell me what the hell's wrong."

"You still don't get it, you fucking..." He choked on the insult, trying to whip his arm out of my grasp. "I knew it was going to happen eventually, but I thought I had a _chance_, that's what! I knew in the end you'd choose him, but I hoped..."

"I'm sorry, Emil," was all I could think of saying.

"You don't even _get it_, though. The way you fix my hair, or when you go out of your way to give me a hand, you don't really mean it. I'm just a 'little brother,' right? That's all you think of me as." The tears were spilling down his chin now that I'd captured one of his hands.

"I've always thought of you as my little brother..." I agreed with him, even though it felt like it was the wrong thing to say. He laughed humorlessly.

"Well, what if I don't want to be your little brother anymore? What if I don't like the role you gave me, Lukas? When then?" His hands were balled into fists as he said it, and he'd quit trying to stop the crying and hiccupping.

I couldn't speak. I merely gazed at those violet eyes, that bloomed like the first day of spring, as they churned out salty tears and darted all over my face.

"This is ridiculous. I knew it all along that you'd never pick me over him. But I still couldn't help—"

"I'm sorry, Emil. I can't love you back, I'm sorry," The words were cold stumbling off of my lips, but I could never imagine myself loving Emil, kissing Emil... it was just so _wrong_, as horrible as it sounded. When I looked at him, he was someone I had to shield. He was the _Emil_ in my life, not the Mathias that made me blush and made my fingertips tingle and my lips yearn for a feeling of softness against them. He was the boy I told my secrets to, the one that I wanted to trust me more than anyone else in the world. The one I had to keep painful things away from.

And I'd just caused one of his most painful moments.

My arms wanted to envelop him in an embrace, my lips twitching to tell him that it was okay, that everything was okay and nothing would hurt him ever again, but when I released his wrist, all I could do was brush the blonde hair out of his eyes. He flinched away.

"Don't touch me," he snapped. He'd stopped crying, but he just stood there for a too-long few seconds, broken. But his feet moved, and I drifted out of his way and the next thing I knew, my front door was being pulled shut quietly and gently.

* * *

><p>My mind kept replaying the scene in my mind, the complete and ultimate horror and hurt and astonishment that had passed over Emil's face when he discovered Mathias and me in the bathroom. It was horrible, and I felt horrible, and the whole house felt like it had been filled with horrible.<p>

While walking into the kitchen, I expected to see Mathias sitting at the table, wallowing in the awkward, but nothing but a note from him waited for me.

_Call me when things cool down._

_Sorry._

I ignored it, looking past the edge of the table at a metallic shine that caught my eye. A thin, silver cross lay on the floor and as I bent to pick it up, my finger ran along the shallow, yet fierce scratch that interrupted the smooth surface. The back of the pin was loose and dented.

The sound of metal slamming against the floor echoed in my ears, a memory of this morning when I'd found Emil, and then when he'd found me. This pin—my pin—must have been what he'd thrown in his disgusted rage, which explained the scratch and damage to the back. But why had he thrown it—dropped it?—this morning? I vaguely remembered leaving it on the edge of the sink before bed, so he must have knocked it off this morning, when he was in the bathroom. Or he had been holding it and it fumbled through his fingers. My mind sped through all the details of the day, furious that I hadn't realized things sooner.

Every blush of his skin, every time he refused to look at me, I realized, he had just been embarrassed. He had given me a long stare, then I had touched his arm gingerly enough to stir up a blush, before his fever returned and I went to fetch the cold cloth. I'd taken his hand, and he'd refused to look me in the eyes. And then when I'd found him, he said he hadn't slept...

"_Well, you didn't care one bit about what kissing him would do to your relationship, did you?" _The conversation we'd had the night before came back to me, the fierceness of his words, how wrong he had sounded.

When I had found Emil this morning, he had been crying. All night. Because of me.

I stuffed the cross into my pocket, grabbing for the phone and punching Mathias's number out. But, after the first ring, I couldn't imagine what the hell I would say to him. I pulled the phone away from my face, my finger hovering over the END button.

"Hello?" his voice rang out before I reacted. "Luke?"

I sighed heavily, pressing my lips together for a short moment. "Yeah."

"God, what the hell happened to Emil? I didn't even realize that he..." Mathias couldn't make himself say it.

"Me either," I mumbled, sparing him the pressure to stuff the words out. "About what I said—"

"That's not the important issue right now, is it?" He sounded slightly desperate, laughing without any humor to supply it. "Want me to talk to him?"

"I think you're the number-one person he doesn't want to see right now," I said, not softening the harshness that came with the phrase.

"Right," he agreed, nervous. A stretch of silence lasted long enough for me to hear him trying to mask his breathing. At last, he continued. "Leave him alone for now and talk to him tomorrow. Do you want me to turn the car around and head back to your place?"

"_No._"

Thankfully, this time, he didn't.

* * *

><p>The door to my café jingled deafeningly when I pushed the door open, and I froze, gazing around the cold, eerily quiet room. I nearly called out Emil's name, but the sound began to feel foreign in my throat, like something I wasn't allowed to say. Instead, I let the bell chime again as the door pulled shut behind me. I didn't hear any machines running, and the lights were still off.<p>

I got to work almost instantly, wrestling an apron over my head and taking apart machines to fill them. I was in the middle of making myself a cup of rich, bitter coffee when I heard the sharp, musical tinkle of a bell—which sent my heart racing. Setting the pot down to prevent my possibly-shaky hands from sloshing the hot liquid all over my exposed arms, I reluctantly dragged myself over to the front counter to greet Emil.

"Morning," I said flatly. He didn't look up, didn't respond, but merely stepped through the half-door that led behind the counter. His first thought was to fill machines, but I had already taken care of them, so he ended up just making himself some sort of girly, sweet latte and sipping it blankly, weight shifting from one foot to another. Obviously, conversation was virtually impossible, so I pretended to be busy counting the coins in the cash register.

It was _such_ a relief when the first customer slouched in, groggy from lack of caffeine. More and more began to line up, until the awkwardness was hardly noticeable through all of the orders and rushing around. The distraction was fantastic, keeping my mind off of subjects I was so eager to avoid. Emil seemed to be thinking the same thing, plunging his head into his work and keeping it there. The only words we uttered to each other were the drinks I needed him to make.

As the morning rush of business men and college students dissipated, carelessly leaving their cardboard cups strewn along the tables, a group of three blonde men pushed the door open and entered, laughing, a small boy in tow. Peter was clinging to Tino's sleeve, not shyly, but more as a precaution just in case he found something worth his interest that he just _had_ to drag Tino off to see. Berwald kept glancing back at the two of them, a light behind his eyes that I rarely saw, the ghost of a smile at the edges of his mouth when he looked at Peter. Mathias was laughing obnoxiously, leading them to their usual table.

Every inch of me wanted to rush over and indulge into the ridiculousness of their conversations, the nonstop pestering of Mathias, and the magical little moments when Peter did something sweet. More than anything, though, I wanted to escape the icy presence churning out steaming coffees like a madman in the back room. My eyes kept following their lips, trying to pick up their conversations, but they were too far away for me to hear anything they were talking about. I was looking past a customer, watching as Mathias ripped up napkins to drop confetti on a squealing Peter's head, when he glanced over at me, grinning from ear to ear. The smile faded a little at my expression, sensing my discomfort. Announcing something to Berwald and Tino, he stood abruptly and drifted over to the counter. I cursed to myself, not really wanting to talk to him alone any more than I wanted to work with Emil.

"How are things going?" he asked, propping his elbows up on the counter.

"I have customers," I muttered, walking away to fill an order. I could've told Emil what the customer had ordered, but that didn't provide me with an escape route.

"We can talk when it's less busy," Mathias offered when I returned with an iced coffee that was basically freezing my hand off.

"No thanks."

"No, really. I can come in later tonight." He sounded proud of himself for thinking up something so great. "You guys don't get too many customers in the evening, right?"

"We close at four," I grumbled. He grinned, accepting it as an invitation.

"Alright! I'll be back at four, then. Oh, and can you get me a large coffee, a hot chocolate for the kid—"

"Back of the line, idiot."


	5. Chapter 5

Mathias arrived either fashionably or idiotically late that night, barreling in through the jingling door with an apologetic grin on his face at almost half past four. Cleaning up usually only took about fifteen minutes, so I was stuck, waiting around for him to finally show up. At least Emil had already gone home, or I would have stood Mathias up to avoid the heavy awkward air that would arrive with nothing to wash down or prepare at work.

All of the café's chairs—save the one I was sitting in—were sitting atop the little tables, so Mathias swung one down and sat on it, backwards, in a completely corny way. His bony elbows overflowed over the chair's back, his arms folded and his chin set lazily on top of them. I quietly watched his over-casual actions as he made himself at home in my café.

"So, Luke, you won't believe what Peter did to Ber today," he offered for conversation, grin widening as he saw my eyes slide over to him. He took my silence as a _go on_. "He drew some picture of Sweden, since Ber's Swedish and all, and gave it to the big guy. Come on, do you even know what Sweden looks like on the map? And a kid's drawing of it? You should've seen his face! Honestly, I thought he was going to burst into laughter right in front of me!" Mathias erupted with chuckles; loud, throaty, and obnoxious.

I smiled thinly. "Peter's pretty cute, huh? Tino is so good with him. And Berwald too, I guess," I replied, trying to keep the light conversation going in order to avoid matters that I would really love to erase from my mind.

"Yeah, they're like real parents to him, since his abandoned him when he was really little," the Dane continued. So much for light conversation. But as long as it had nothing to do with Emil, kissing, or unmendable relationships, I supposed I couldn't care less what we talked about.

My lips twitched to add something about wanting a little guy to take care of like Tino and Berwald had Peter, but my mind wandered to Emil, the boy I was _supposed_ to take care of. What a great job I'd done with him. Instead, I nodded and began to point out other small little miracles Peter could perform with his innocent little mind, like when he'd give everyone a share of the whipped cream on his hot chocolate, or fall asleep in Tino's arms, or try to clean Ber's glasses with his shirt. All thoughts of Emil faded as I began to smile, then grow chatty, then begin to laugh with Mathias.

"Hey, can you make me a frappe or something?" he asked, yawning, after about an hour of pure conversation.

"Maybe if you'd come a little earlier, you could have gotten one before I shut down all the machines. Idiot," I added, smirking. I should have just made him one, warm and syrupy and virtually disgusting from the lack of machinery. That'd teach him to get to places on time.

"Fine! I'll make one for myself," he grinned, stood, and eyed the half-door that led behind the counter as if it was the doorway to some unknown realm. "It can't be that hard to turn some machines on and off."

"Go right ahead," I couldn't help the bitter smugness that spread across my lips. "I'm not helping."

After a few minutes of toppling cups, spilled milk, and the violent whirring of the blender, Mathias somehow managed to scrape together some sort of sloppy chocolate drink that was dripping down the sides. He was looking mighty proud of himself, beaming as he practically strutted out into the sit-down part of the restaurant. He slid the possibly sweet concoction over to me.

"Try it," he said lightly.

"No chance in hell." That thing was a heart failure waiting to happen.

"Oh, come on! I'm a good cook, honestly!"

Small laughs bubbled out of me, weighing less than the air as they floated away and mixed with the blonde man's great hollering chuckles. He kept pestering me to take a sip, and I was insistent on refusing, but eventually the light from the sun grew dim and our conversations turned harmless. He ended up trying the drink himself, to prove to me it wasn't poisonous or otherwise inedible, but it wasn't convincing enough for me.

We left the café lightheaded with sheer happiness, a real, if miniature, smile brightening my face.

* * *

><p>It was equally as tough to drag myself out from the warm sheets that morning, for they tangled around my legs and lured me back into a dream where everything was lovely and alright. There was no complicated love in my dream, just a sweet air of brotherly teasing and protection. Even Berwald and Tino, who had been present, were acting as siblings rather than lovers. The mirage was secretly wonderful, because each and every word spoken was so much <em>easier<em>, no longer bearing the weight of taboo subjects.

But there was a wintery wonderland out there for me to face, filled with a delicious blonde man that I shouldn't love, a sweet little brother that I'd treated wrongly, and then a picturesque family whose only flaw was a lack of female insight. There were orders to fill, and silence to be drenched in, and husky laughs that shook my heart. Good morning.

On my way to work, as I stepped off of the bus and into the grey layer of slush on the concrete, a series of fast, high-pitched cat noises put to music erupted from my pocket. I fumbled for my cell phone, my gloves making it absolutely impossible to open it without dropping it and letting it clatter to the ground to drown in the wet not-really-snow. I ripped a glove off with my teeth, flipping the device open.

"Yeah?"

"I can't come in to work today," Emil's voice said bluntly in my ear, buzzing metallically. My lips parted slightly in surprise as I listened and hurried out of the way of oncoming pedestrians. I was just a few lots up from the café, and I had been expecting to find Emil already there, having set up all he was required to do.

"...Okay." I grimaced at the hesitation that the shock had allowed for. "Do you have someone to cover for you or am I going to be short a guy?" My boots were getting too wet from the abundance of ugly, irritating slush.

"I couldn't get anyone to cover for me on such short notice." His tone was flat and balanced, controlled even. "But I know you can take care of things by yourself."

"Alright, fine." His stoic, simple statement of facts was bugging me a bit. While Emil _was_ pretty stoic, he could at least make a little polite chit-chat when he was feeling up to it. But I suppose I couldn't blame him for not feeling up to chit-chat with the man that had rejected his confession. I didn't really have anything else to say, so I waited for him to apologize for the suddenness or say a courteous goodbye.

"Bye." The word was brisk and heavy, but I wasn't sure if I'd even heard it before the line went dead. So much for _courteous_.

My fingers had begun to lose all feeling, so I stuffed my phone back into my pocket and my hand into my glove. Turning the last corner to reach the café, I muttered to myself about how I'd have to do double the work to make up for Emil's absence, and for the second day in a row I'd be opening on my own. Managers weren't supposed to just decide not to come in when they were having a few problems. We'd gotten through yesterday without too much trouble, if you didn't count the constantly awkward silence.

Setting up and chugging through the morning rush was stressful, but a lovely distraction from all that had happened over the past few days. I felt myself drifting into a sweet calm, despite the cranky customers that had been waiting in line too long, the deafening roar of machinery, and smell of whipped cream that clung to my clothes. Emil and Mathias left my thoughts, and I found myself wondering about Berwald and Tino when I had time to think, and what their lives were like. Everything about them always seemed so peaceful and perfect, a cheerful family scene, and I was moderately jealous. Tino was always smiling, and Berwald had to be happy to have such a generous man to be with.

My thoughts stayed on the two when I noticed them strolling into the café for their usual visit, Mathias breaking apart from their little group to head straight my way. I pretended not to notice him and watched the way Berwald was gazing at Tino, a deep rush of colour coming to his cheeks when Tino's lips spread out into a delighted smile. My heart ached with jealousy and some sort of sheer pride for my friend as I studied his dark, generally mean-looking features. The skin underneath his expression was softer and more delicate than one would expect, like a shiny layer of ice atop snow. It appears so solid and unyielding to one's hand, but if stepped on with too much emotion, it crumbles and one's foot falls through.

"Luke! What's up?" Mathias's sunny voice greeted me with warm friendliness. I frowned.

"What is it that you don't understand about waiting in line?" I asked him, lips fumbling over the muttered words.

He ignored me. "So, last night was fun," he told me, wagging his eyebrows as if it held some sort of double meaning. It wasn't a request for my opinion on exactly how fun last night was, but a simple, inarguable statement. And there certainly was no double meaning outside of Mathias's mind.

"I have customers." I sidestepped in hopes that the man he had cut in front of in line wasn't too flustered.

"You want me to close up shop with you again?" the Dane asked me casually, as if he'd actually done any work last night, or even arrived early enough to assist.

I sighed. "You're annoying, Anko."

That phrase was something I used too often, a little set of words I'd put together for those few sudden moments when I had no idea what to say. This tall, blonde-haired, ridiculously mind-boggling man could make me nervous to the point where I couldn't make myself utter useful words, so _You're annoying, Anko_ would just slip off of my lips. Because for God's sake, I couldn't just say yes, oh hell yes, I want to spend my evening goofing off with you again, and I just couldn't bear to tell him no.

"You won't mind, will you?" he continued, closing his eyes as he laughed easily, the sound flowing into my ears like melted chocolate.

"Just don't be late this time." He winked and nodded in some sort of wordless promise—which probably made it meaningless—then headed back over to Berwald and Tino to see what they were going to order. Berwald seemed a little disappointed when he stole Tino's attention with a loud, boisterous "What'll it be, guys?"

The morning rush wasn't anything special, but time suddenly seemed to be passing much too quickly, my friends using up their time in the café before I even realized it. The line was never-ending, a steadily rushing river of sleepiness and a severe lack of caffeine. I felt as though the espresso machine may burst, or my head would burst, but not once did my thoughts wander into the land of Mathias, or even ponder Berwald and Tino. I was focused, much too busy on my own, and completely oblivious to a Dane waving to me as he galloped out into the iciness.

The phone rang in the middle of a particularly ingredient-specific iced coffee, making me jostle the ice and splash cold coffee onto the counter and my shoes. Rushing to hand it off to the customer and bolt for the phone, I wasn't careful enough to avoid the bitter mess on the floor and slid my shoe through it, sending me hurtling towards to telephone. I grabbed for it on the fourth ring, masking my not-quite-caught breath and gathering all the cool I'd shattered.

"Lukas?" a familiar voice asked for me, his throat cracked and dry but his tone otherwise unhindered by any sort of emotion.

"Emil," I noted, unhappy that he'd interrupted me during one of the busiest parts of the day.

"Are things tough when you're short a person?" I really didn't have time for idle chat, and he didn't even sound like he gave a damn.

"I can manage just fine," I assured him, glancing at the line of irritated, borderline miserable customers eyeing me from the cash register.

"Good," he said. I could practically hear the expression—or lack of one—on his face as he took a pause too long for my currently busy schedule. "That's good, because..."

"Spit it out."

"I quit."


	6. Chapter 6

Days without Emil handling the register and managing the employees were tough, consisting of too much running around and too many nights when I'd return home with a backache that wouldn't leave me no matter how long I stayed in bed. I'd thought of hiring someone new to at least make things more relaxed, but the interviews were going horribly. One potential candidate, Alfred, babbled through his entire interview about how much he hated coffee and how he was just naturally energetic, so he had no idea what coffee would even do to him. Another man—Alfred's brother, he was proud to tell me—never showed up, although some small part of my mind kept making me believe that I was seeing him out of the corner of my eye, until I would turn and find no one there. A tall, thin and dark-looking albino decided that he'd bless me with his drunken presence, only to be dragged out of his interview by two friends, an olive-skinned Spaniard and a blonde, unshaven man with a heavy French accent.

But there was one thing, one annoying, unbelievable, blonde, and gorgeous thing that I could secretly look foreward to at the end of the day: closing with Mathias. It had become a regular occurrence, the tall man shrugging through the door frame every evening just as I finished any work that I could thrust onto his shoulders. He'd drape himself across a chair, and my eyes would avoid him as I told myself not to stare, and the amount of sunlight streaming through the windows would decrease as we chatted the hours away, some nights quietly, while others Mathias would make me smile and laugh at his absolute craziness. For the amount of stress my mind was putting on me, I could really enjoy myself for once. When work ended, I could anticipate a cheerful night with him, strictly friendly despite the constant tugging on the strings of my heart to get closer to him, to reach out to him.

That is, until he ruined everything.

"You haven't seen Emil in days, have you?" he asked me, chin in his palm and looking too thoughtful for his own good.

"He hasn't talked to me in over a week." I was used to seeing him every single day, connected by a wordless, brotherly bond—or so I'd thought.

"That's pretty tough, huh? But it's not like he'll give you the cold shoulder forever, right?" Mathias could really be terrible at avoiding the things I wanted to ignore most.

I couldn't look him in the eyes. "He quit his damn job so he wouldn't have to be around me."

"Luke..." Mathias's chair inched towards my own with a loud scrape against the floor. I resisted both the urge to lean away and the one to bury my face into his shoulder. A long patch of silence ensued as I ignored the heat that was radiating from him, the arm that he rested on the back of my chair...

"If you want to talk about it—" His low voice broke through the quiet, too full of concern.

"I don't want to talk about it."

"But—"

"I said," I huffed, heart racing and blood slamming itself into the tips of my fingers, as I let impulse take me over and shoved the rational part of my mind into the back seat. My hands moved by their own accord, out of my lap as my body turned to face my companion, and rested on the back of his chair, gripping the backrest too tightly. I swung my leg over his, letting my knees settle on either side of his thighs until I was—I couldn't allow myself to think it—sitting in Mathias's lap. I used the dumbfounded silence that my actions provided to finish my sentence. "I don't want to talk about it."

I wasn't sure why my limbs had moved for me, either because some sad little part of my sorry self was seeking comfort or warmth, or that I'd just been waiting _too long_ to be this close to the man again, but I had to admit that I liked where things were going.

"What're you—" he began, his voice light and laughing, but nervous at the same time. I interrupted him again, but this time, it was much, much better.

Because I leaned my face towards his, cutting off his words by touching my lips to his.

Mathias, as shocked as he was by the suddenness of it all, wasted no time before kissing back. Our lips were no longer just brushing, but his moved beneath mine, pressing against them and then pulling my bottom lip between his own until my mouth was parted open. His tongue tasted even better than just his lips.

He had reacted quickly, an arm snaking around my waist to rest on the small of my back and pull us closer together, while the other hand kept my head from leaning away by pressing into the back of my neck. I could tell his pulse was just as rapid and thick as my own, my fingers releasing his chair to trail down his shoulder, up against his sensitive, throbbing neck to run through his hair. The golden locks were like silk cascading against the skin of my hand, sticking up in all directions. Mathias mimicked my movements, drawing his hand up along the back of my head to grip my hair and tangle in it. His forefinger brushed the curl at the nape of my neck, sending a shiver up my spine.

I broke the kiss abruptly at that, squirming out of his grasp and nearly knocking us both off of his chair while a burning redness claimed my cheeks and the tops of my ears, flowing down to my collarbone. My legs had transformed into jelly, wobbly and unsteady beneath me, but I somehow managed to stumble away, away from the table, away from the Dane whose lips were bright pink, away from the desire. The man stood up to try to stop me, but I was already heading behind the counter, in search of my bag that held my wallet and house keys and I just wasn't able to leave behind even in such dire situations. When I burst back out to the main part of the café, Mathias was blocking the half-door built into the counter, leaning on it too casually.

I briefly considered leaping over the countertop. "Move," I grumbled instead, not meeting his blue, blue eyes. I heard a soft chuckle from him.

"No encore?" he murmured, voice low and husky, rumbling with a softness that made my cheeks turn redder. I didn't know it was possible to flush so much. His hand reached out to touch my cheek, warmth against uncomfortable, burning warmth, and I flinched away. His hand stayed raised for a moment, then Mathias dipped his head and slammed his fist into the counter. I couldn't help jumping at the abrupt rage and heavy _thud_ his fingers made. "Dammit Lukas! I fucking hate it when you're like this—one minute you're acting like you care, and then the next, nothing."

I pushed past him, not letting the words get to me. I could still taste him, though, the entire time I ran to the bus stop, but I solved that by wiping my mouth a thousand times on my sleeve and burying my thoughts underneath the subtle smell of snow, the way the streetlights bled red and green and yellow into the whiteness, the way the moon shone through the hazy clouds overhead. It was _his_ fault, obviously, for bringing up a tough subject and breaking me down to a weak mess, after all, not mine.

* * *

><p>"Mathias is really upset, you know," Tino said softly, his violet eyes laced with the utmost concern.<p>

I tried not to cringe. "I know."

"I know it's tough for you, but you really should be more sensitive around him," he continued, shaking his head and looking out the window to see Peter making two lumpy eyebrows to put on his snowman while Berwald smiled at him and wrapped a scarf around it. "He just cares about you so much..."

I nodded, unsure of what to say. He sighed.

"So, tell me what's happened up to last night?" He seemed unsure of where to start also. I relayed the night when Mathias was drunk, how I'd kissed him and thought he'd forgotten, how we'd gotten too close together and Emil had seen, how much he'd helped me just by simply being _there_ when I didn't have Emil with me, and how embarrassed I'd gotten last night, because it had just been too fast, all at once...

"Lukas," Tino said when I'd finished and I was looking past him out at the wet clumps of snow whizzing past and sticking to the window. "You're just pushing people away."

"I don't mean to—"

"You're doing the exact same thing as you did with Emil. He shows you too much emotion, and you shoot him down, a quick and uncaring _no_."

"But he was the one who walked away from me!" I defended myself, grabbing my mug of coffee off of the table and grasping the handle tightly as the froth swirled around on the surface. "He decided he wanted more than just friendship, and he left when he found out that I wasn't going to be more than just his friend."

Tino frowned more deeply, finger tapping on his lip thoughtfully. "But did you ever tell him to stop, to wait, you still want to see him?"

"No, but..."

"So you just let him walk away and didn't bat an eye as he shut the door on you?"

"I guess so..."

The edge of his lips turned up into a sad smile. "And you aren't just going to do the same with Mathias, are you; just push him away because one of you is feeling too much?"

"Hopefully not," I sighed, taking a sip of coffee. I had doubled my usual intake since last night, trying to wash away the taste of Mathias with its bitter strength. "What the hell am I supposed to do, though?" I felt pathetic asking him for help, because I could totally do this myself if I wanted to. Totally.

"Tell him how you feel?"

"_Hell no_. I'm not a girl, Tino. Guys don't talk about their feelings."

"Then what are we doing right now?" he teased, laughing. I buried my lips in the coffee again.

"Shut up."

"Well, maybe you should at least return his calls," he offered. Mathias had gone as far as calling me six times, but hadn't left a voicemail or texted me anything.

"I think we should talk in person," I replied. As much as I didn't want to see his face again, it would be a better idea than playing phone-tag. "But I don't know what to say."

"You aren't much of a talker at all, Luke," Tino said lightly over his hot chocolate. "Just let him do the talking—you know he'll never stop—and it'll come to you, okay?" He reached across the kitchen table, patting my hand like an unsaid _it'll be fine_.

* * *

><p>I wasn't going to think about what to say. Of course not.<p>

Instead, I was going to turn the ugly, crunchy squishing sound of my boots against the salty pavement into some sort of melody that I could keep pace to. I'd listen to a cardinal holler along with it, an uneven number of notes spurting from its beak with every corner I turned, somehow still audible three blocks away, until a bus slid by too loudly and the sound was lost to me. I would watch a group of young adults coming towards me, cheerful and untroubled in the wintery morning, probably chatting about what to get their parents for Christmas or what their parents were going to get _them_.

There were three of them, a dark-haired Asian boy with bushy eyebrows and a bored, almost dark expression, a cheerful and cute girl bundled up in blue, whose dark-skinned hands gripped the others' as she skipped down the street, and then a small-framed, silver-haired boy who was gazing at the girl out of the corner of his eye, amused.

_Wait._

"Emil?"

* * *

><p><strong>Note:<strong> I just realized that the spacing on this story was messed up, so I inserted a bunch of horizontal rulers to help with that. To all of you who read previous chapters, sorry for the awkward and sudden passing of time; I originally had it with extra line breaks and symbols to show the time skip, but I didn't know that the site would eat them.

Feel free to reread to gain the full experience? No? Okay.


	7. Chapter 7

"Huh?" the petite girl singsonged, releasing Emil and the other boy's hands. "Who's this, Emil?"

It took him a minute to answer, looking me over and sending his bright companion a slight glare for her loudness. I, on the other hand, was grateful for her easy, light way of speaking and breaking the ice.

"Oh, this is my—This is Lukas," he explained. What had he been so hesitant to say? Brother? Friend? I nodded to the girl in hello.

"I didn't know you had friends," I said, a weak smile playing at my lips.

He ignored my jab, motioning to the peppy girl, then the silent boy. "This is Arielle—" She grinned widely, long eyelashes brushing the top of her cheek and her hand rising to give me a little wave. "—and Kaoru." Kaoru locked eyes with me for a moment, then glanced away, heavy brows hiding his eyes.

"Nice to meet you guys," I said, smiling with fake politeness. "It's always nice to see people looking out for Emil." He sent me a sharp look, like a child might give to an embarrassing parent. My lips turned up into a more genuine smile as he squirmed in the awkward air.

"Guys, why don't you go on ahead?" he suggested to Kaoru and Arielle, breath hanging in the air, a white puff in the dense coldness. "See you at the café? I haven't talked to Luke in a while." He sent me an understanding look laced with something unsaid.

"Okay, take your time!" Arielle bubbled, grabbing onto Kaoru's arm and pulling him away.

"At the _café_, huh?" I prodded once the duo was out of earshot.

"Shut up. I miss the coffee, and I figured we should talk sometime."

"Today's my day off." Wednesdays had been for the past three years.

"Oh, yeah," he muttered, obviously not having forgotten that fact. He moved right on, ignoring his mistake. "Should we sit down? It's so damn awkward standing here in the middle of the sidewalk."

"Yeah. Sure," I agreed, leading the way over to a roofed-in bench for people waiting for a bus. At least it kept the snow off of our heads, and it felt instantly warmer as we ducked underneath. Emil sat noticeably far away from me, so that we were taking up the whole bench with just the two of us. He stared at his feet. "I'm sorry," I blurted, my words forced. "I didn't mean to push you away. I still want to see you."

"Did Tino tell you to say that?" He was staring at me, eyes not widened in the slightest by my sudden confession.

"What—? No," I lied.

"Oh, come on." Emil laughed humorlessly, turning his head to watch a taxi chug through the slushy mess of a road. "Even if you mean that, you'd never say it."

"Well, I do mean it." My cheeks were turning pink—damn this stupid conversation.

He sighed. "Well, it's not like I want to avoid you forever either. You damn near broke my heart, Luke, but that doesn't mean I hate you." My chest suddenly felt lighter, and the snow falling at our feet looked like pieces of soft fluff instead of crystallized tears.

"'Damn near'? Were your feelings for me not as strong as I thought?" I smiled diabolically, leaning closer to Emil. He whipped his eyes towards me, shocked, and opened his mouth to speak. I interrupted him before he could begin. "Is there someone else you love, _little brother_? It's that Kaoru, isn't it?" I let out a soft chuckle at his blatant discomfort.

"What the hell, Luke?" he sputtered, pushing me away roughly, to the other side of the bench. "Of course not!"

"So it's the pretty, black one?" I pondered that, my smile not yet dimmed. "I always imagined you going for a boy, really."

"It's not! Shut up!"

As I started to laugh, and our banter faded, I felt as if nearly every worry in my mind had gone, leaving behind a white, snowy canvas splattered with only one problem.

One lean, messy-haired, blissful problem.

Mathias had one of those charming doorbells that gave you a little melody when you pressed your forefinger to the button, the sound muffled by the door. I heard some muted yelling, that might've been a "Berwald?" or a "Come in," I couldn't really tell.

When he opened the door, he was looking exhausted, his hair sticking up in every direction—more of a bedhead than I was used to seeing him with. His neon green pajamas were baggy and downright strange, the pants a light green with patches of sudden brightness that matched the sleep shirt. A pink scarf was wrapped around his neck, speckled with various other colours, to keep him warm despite the heat that was blowing onto me even as I stood outside. Also tied around his neck was a blanket, a rather ugly blue one with neutral tones swirled and patched in. It hung from his sculpted frame, flowing down his back to stop abruptly and dangle at his ankles, either tied there to keep it from shifting in his sleep, or to look like a "totally cool" cape.

I frowned deeply, raising an eyebrow. "What the hell have you been doing?"

An impossibly wide grin gripped Mathias's face, saying more than any greeting could.

I invited myself in, stepping over the threshold while secretly surprised. The sound of his fist hitting the counter snapped through my mind: sudden, angry, full of pain. The low, brutal growl of his voice last night didn't match up with the idiotic expression now contorting his features. I wandered into his living room, plopping down on the couch and making myself right at home. My shoes and parka hit the floor lazily.

He had chased after me, and was now standing in the doorway looking dumbfounded and thrilled. "Luke? What the hell?" he practically squealed.

"Thought we needed to talk a little," I murmured, covering my mouth with a hand to stifle my words a little. Although, judging by that Danish grin, maybe he was over it and there was nothing to be discussed.

The look on his face grew serious, fading down to an expression I didn't like seeing plastered on his features. "Maybe that's a good idea."

He sat in one of his puffy leather chairs, drawing his knees up close to his chest. Mathias plucked a little, black stuffed bear off of the arm of the chair, gripping it against his stomach. I tried not to stare or roll my eyes or call him an idiot.

"What do you think we should talk about?" he huffed into his knees. I refused to meet his eyes, because I might have exploded at just that.

"Seriously? Let's start with why you were so pissed off last night." I was already running low on patience.

"You..." Mathias's word trailed off as he thought of the right thing to say. "You aren't thinking of me at all, okay?" His tone was loud, but desperate and abrupt at the same time.

I scowled into my palm. "What do you mean?"

"The hell you think?" he nearly snarled, voice suddenly darkening and gaining tints of rage. "I can never know what to expect from you, Luke! You kiss me out of nowhere, reject me, then make a move and run away afterwards? What the hell?"

"You're really a mess today, aren't you?" I noted, looking him up and down. It's not like I was avoiding his questions.

"What?"

"It's two-thirty and you're still in your pajamas, Mathias. Take better care of yourself." He wrinkled his nose in confusion, unsure of why I was getting so suddenly off-topic. I was glad he hadn't caught on to my reason. "Go take a shower, and talk to me when you're done."

"No way! I'm talking to you now." He sounded like a whiny child, and resembled one too as he squeezed his bear more tightly.

"I can't take you seriously when you look like this, honestly." The roll of my eyes seemed to convince him that I was actually being serious. He addressed his bed-rumpled state, then stood up defeatedly.

"Don't leave," he muttered. As he passed, Mathias dropped the teddy bear into my lap, and I stared at it dumbly for a moment before looking back up to find him gone, sprinting up the stairs probably to shower as quickly as possible. Sure enough, it hadn't been a minute before the water started running. I couldn't stifle my grin at his predictability, so instead I gripped the stuffed bear and pulled it up past my chin, burying my face into the soft artificial fur. It smelled strongly of that generic perfume all stuffed toys seemed to wear, but also held a deeper, homier scent that warmed my insides until I was inhaling to the point where my nose got used to it.

It was a long moment of nostalgia, my mind frantically trying to remember where I'd witnessed such a scent before, before the memories came rushing back to me. Warmth and subtlety mixed with ale as my skin flushed unpleasantly, a strong scent as inescapable as the hand on my stomach, mixed into golden locks of hair that my fingers ran through and tangled in...

_Mathias's cologne_.

I tossed the bear to the floor mercilessly, letting it land face-first into the unyielding carpet with hardly a sound. I stretched out on the sofa, but my legs quickly became restless and I ended up flipping over onto my stomach, burrowing my cheeks into one of Mathias's pillows, but dammit, it smelled like him too.

Standing to relieve the stress in my knees, I wandered around the room for a few moments, pretending to be interested in the various knick-knacks and tasteless pieces of art on his walls. I was drawn to a shelf full of photographs, and it took me a long ten seconds to realize that they were _all_ of either him, Berwald, Tino, Peter, Emil, or I. A pattern could be found instantly: Berwald always with the ever-cheerful Tino and Peter, Emil looking peaceful on his own or with my arm slung over his shoulders, and Mathias in the background of almost every single one, making a ridiculous face or giving one of us bunny-ears behind our heads. Several featured him and I, his grin annoying the hell out of me, or my hands pushing him away because he was too damn close. Those made me frown, because there wasn't _one_ in which I was smiling.

No—I was wrong, there was one more picture, hidden on a shelf above my eye level, but probably right at Mathias's. I reached up, snatching the frame off of the finished wood to inspect it more closely.

I was staring past the camera, as if unaware I was being photographed, with my eyes alight and the corners of my mouth pulled up into a smile that gave my pale cheeks a bit of colour.

I briefly considered flinging it to the floor to join the bear. "Mean," a softly accusing voice huffed from behind me, starling me enough to whip around to look. An already showered and fully clothed Mathias was bending down to pick up his bear, then he held it gingerly in his hands, sending a harsh glance my way.

I skipped the apology. "When did you take this?" I asked him, making my voice as flat as possible as I held the frame up and wiggled it in the air for emphasis. He walked over and plucked it from my hands, his eyes sparkling as they saw the look on my photographed face.

A wide grin made him look like an idiot. "I love this picture," he said, and I scowled deeply. "This was from that day we all went sailing together, remember? You were kinda dreamy the whole time, but you looked so happy out on the water." The memory came back to me, fond and sweet with the scent of the ocean and the way Emil's hair had gotten wet with mist from leaning over the edge of the boat.

"Oh, yeah..." I breathed, my words lighter than the air.

"Anyways! Back to the matter at hand!" he called out as he set the picture back on its shelf, making my stomach twist. If he couldn't tell by all of my stalling, I really didn't want to talk to him, despite the need for it. I struggled for words, subconsciously taking a step back towards the wall. "Why the hell did you throw Anders on the floor?"

I swear I felt all of the blood drain from my body. "Anders?"

Mathias waved the bear in the air as an explanation. "Obviously the bear," he grumbled. "He's such a fragile thing, you can't just _throw _him."

"Shut up."

"I'm being serious—" he began. I rolled my eyes at him and he paused, looking me over. "Tell him you're sorry."

"Fuck no, I'm not talking to a stuffed animal."

Mathias moved suddenly, closing the few steps between us and leading me backwards with a soft hand on my hip, until my back touched the wall. His hands pushed against the wall on either side of my waist, pinning me in place without actually touching me. He pushed the bear—_Anders _—into my arms. His eyes bore into my own, intense and fearless.

"Tell him you're sorry for being a jerk, and acting like you guys had something special, and for throwing him away like he was nothing." The pain in his voice was evident, but he cleared his throat to try to hide it.

"Mathias..."

"He doesn't know what to think, Luke, he's confused and he really just wants to know what's going on in your head..."

"I'm sorry," I said to him, staring into blue eyes that shook slightly at my words, but began to shine with utter happiness and blinked a few times to make sure I was still there. "I'm sorry that I'm a jerk full of mood swings. And, well, the truth is, I really do think there might be something between us, okay?"

Mathias leaned foreward, planting a light kiss on my nose and making heat crawl underneath my skin.

I shoved the teddy bear into his face, pushing it away from mine in a rush of black fur and softness. It fell back into my arms after he fumbled with it for a minute. "But you'll just have to deal with me as I am."

"I think I might be able to do that," he replied, smiling too widely and in the goofiest way possible. He paused before continuing, his eyes skimming across my hairline, down to my blonde bangs, my eyes, the curve of my jaw. "Because I lo—"

"You're annoying, Anko." In the passion of our sudden kiss, my hands became preoccupied with balling into fists and gripping Mathias's shirt. Anders fell to the floor.


End file.
